As Far As I Can See

Recently, a poet asked me this question:What is the horizon in your life? He followed it up with:Do you have one?

What is the place you are striving for? Where do your eyes stray when you have an idle moment? Where is the spot, just out of reach, where your dreams begin?

Is it just at the edge of town or so far away that you can discern the curve of the earth as you gaze at it?

Is it less of a place and more of a moment in time? Is your horizon when the wedding happens or the baby is born? When the treatment is over? When the pain stops?

What is the horizon in your life?

Do you have one?

Looking across the fields of Rowena Crest towards Washington.

For quite some time now, my horizon has been a to-do list. I rarely look any further than the data streaming at me in the glowing rectangles in my life.

It wasn’t always like this. Four years ago, I set my sights on the Pacific Northwest, a land I had always felt drawn to. Once the idea formed in my head, I kept looking towards this corner of the country, mulling over what might be possible here.

In the past, I’ve looked to the horizon to find opportunities such as a study abroad program and university. I once thought that a family and motherhood were on the horizon for me, but they turned out to be unreachable shores.

Somewhere along the way, at a moment I can’t quite pinpoint, I stopped looking toward the horizon. I started (metaphorically and literally) walking with my head down, knocking down tasks and responsibilities one by one, dutifully, methodically, and with very little joy.

My life, both in and outside the office, became a job. I have no dreams for the future, and I’ve long since stopped lifting my eyes to the horizon, scanning for new opportunities.

There are times in life when momentum and circumstance drive you forward. But if you choose your own path, or reject the milestones that everyone else chooses, you have to find your own horizons. You have to push yourself to look up, because the world is content to have you stay in one place, head down, hands busy, mouth shut.

There is a restlessness inherent in horizon watching. It’s a call to move, to dream, to dare. Those moves may not have anything to do with geography and everything to do with the authenticity of how you live your life.

Maybe you aren’t up for looking at the horizon at this point in your life. Maybe what’s going on in your home is all you can look at right now. That’s OK.

But when you’re ready, or when you simply must change your focus, I hope you look up and look out into the world. Look as far as you can see. Let your eyes go a little out of focus so that your heart can take a good look too. And let that horizon whisper to you of possibility and promise. Your feet may never move, but your spirit may finally be able to dance free.

I wish I had had this reminder years ago when I, too, had my head down doing my job, accomplishing my neverending to-do lists, and living day-to-day walking/running on the same treadmill. Thankfully, retirement lifted my head, banished most of the lists, and slowed down the pace to afford me the chance to look beyond. It’s still a work in progress. But your reflection will nudge me to continue looking up and out. Thank you!